


so this is love?

by wiseturtlebear



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, also better outfits at hilamshiral because what the fuck were those outfits, had to write this after playing dai again, i would die for sera, my take on a more coherent romance progression with sera, pro-mage warning, writing this made me realise how many parallels there are between sera and a circle mage inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiseturtlebear/pseuds/wiseturtlebear
Summary: Sera told herself she’d never fall for any of those noble idiots. Those pampered arses in silk breeches who punched down and trampled the little people. So how the hell did she fall for a bloody Trevelyan?





	so this is love?

Sera’s earliest memories had been of the alienage. Of stinking streets and plenty of impoverished to trip over. All _elves_ , of course. Elves with ears as pointy and bodies as thin as hers. But that’s as far as the similarities went between elves and Sera.

She remembered the alienage elders glaring down at her, their wrinkled and bony fingers jabbing at her, _she has no respect! she disrespects the very gods that gave her life!_ and Sera hated them. She cared nothing for their stupid gods, their pantheon of those long dead. Fen-Harel, Andruil, Mythal — they were nothing to her. Empty names, no different to the names etched onto tombstones.

Why should she give a rat’s arse about elven gods? What have they ever done for her? Mythal never protected her from the cold and the beatings. Sylaise never held her close when she cried or put food in her belly. Those gods were dead — if they weren’t, then they didn’t give a sod about people like Sera and that was worse.

Life in the alienage was lived day by day. Sera didn’t have any skills to her name. None except her swift feet and quick hands that let her steal a loaf of bread and run faster than the guards could chase her.

No one helped Sera. Then again, they couldn’t even help themselves. Sera watched them light candles and pray around a great big tree, calling out to their dead gods. _Vhenadahl_. Sera made a point to spit at its’ roots if she got close enough. Stupid tree. What good was it? It provided no food, no shelter — it was just some place elves went to cry and complain about “how great we used to be”.

Who’s we? Sera was doing just fine. She had a loaf of stale bread and clothes with only six holes in them. Sera was great all by herself.

Until she wasn’t by herself anymore.

When Sera was about ten, her luck had run out. It was just a bit of chicken, not even enough to be considered a snack. No one would’ve missed it if Sera took it, and take it she did. She ran as fast as her feet could take her, before slipping on a patch of wet mud. The city guards swarmed towards her like ants to honey.

“Let me go!” Sera yelled, struggling against their gloved hands.

She thrashed and yelled, trying to appear as fearsome as lion in the body of a kitten.

In that moment, she was sure that was the end. She knew what guards did to elves — especially their women. Even young ones like her. When they were done tormenting her, they’d lock her up in a deep hole and throw away the key. She’d die in a jail cell like so many other thieving elves have.

As hot tears spilled down her cheeks and her vision blurred, she heard a voice shout out, “Wait!”

Sera had snapped her head up. She couldn’t see much behind the thick layers of tears. Not until there was a woman standing right in front of her, dressed to the nines. She even _smelled_ noble. Was this the woman she stole from, maybe? Wanting a few kicks in before the guards dragged Sera off?

She screwed her face up and flinched away from the woman.

“Take this. It’s more than enough for whatever she stole.” The woman said, handing the nearest guard a few silvers.

Sera had snapped her head up and she swore her ears twitched in disbelief. Was she hearing things wrong?

The guards slowly let go of her and Sera felt her arms drop to her sides. And then another hand curl around her shoulder. It was gentler, as if afraid to break Sera.

That was… new.

“Come along now, dear.”

And she did. Lead by the shoulder, Sera followed this woman back to her home like a stray puppy. She knew what she looked like: a malnourished elf-child, barefoot and dirty. Even stepping on the marble staircase felt like a violation.

Her name was Taraline Emmald. She was a right proper lady and everything, all titles and estates. She wasn’t too pretty or nothing and she didn’t have many visitors. No family neither. All she had was Sera, now.

For once, Sera wasn’t all by herself.

Life with Lady Emmald was fuzzy. Like a warm, cosy dream that you try to remember but it slips through your fingers the more you try. Sera remembered warm fingers combing through her hair at night, bedtimes stories by the fire, sleeping under thick fur blankets.

It was the life of luxury for years. Sera grew up proper for a while. Lady Emmald basically treated her like a daughter. She dressed her in the best clothes, got her tutors to teach her how to read and write, and she introduced her to the Chant.

Sera had always known that there was a chantry in Denerim. She never went in, though. She told herself it was because the Sisters probably didn’t want a dirty elf beggar dirtying their pretty white floors. She didn’t want to admit that she was scared. Scared that the Sisters would look at Sera like all the other elves did: with hate and disappointment. She was scared of that Andraste lady, too. Some larger-than-life prophet who probably didn’t have time to listen to the prayers of an elf.

Then Lady Emmald took her to the Denerim chantry. Sera asked Lady Emmald if she could wear a hat to cover up her ears and the lady let her. Red-tipped ears were safely tucked inside a trapper hat and Sera doubled-checked to make sure nothing stuck out.

The chantry was so… warm. That’s what she remembered. There were candles lit everywhere but unlike that stupid elf tree, they felt inviting. People knelt down in front of huge statues made of gold — or maybe just metal painted gold. They prayed in silence, no loud cries like the elves in the alienage.

But the silent praying wasn’t what drew Sera’s eye. It was the marble statue of Andraste. The largest one in the entire chantry and it seemed to be watching Sera as she walked. It was half the size of the v _henadahl_ but it still towered over Sera. But where the _vhenadahl_ hung over Sera’s head like a nightmare demon, it felt like Andraste was watching over her. Protective, almost.

She was dead pretty, too. That helped.

The more Lady Emmald told her about the Chant of Light, the more Sera wanted to know. She thought Andraste was the coolest woman ever and devoured every story the Lady was willing to part with.

She liked Andraste a lot more than she did those dead gods. Andraste, the Maker — they were simple. Believable. Comforting. She felt more for the human’s prophet than she did for her own gods.

And she liked it that way.

The Sisters never knew that Sera was an elf. She made sure of that. As did Lady Emmald.

“People don’t like _elves_ , Sera.” Lady Emmald would tell her over tea, “You want people to like you, don’t you, dear?”

Sera nodded eagerly.

Over the years, Sera learned of lots of people who “didn’t like elves”. The baker, who Lady Emmald forbid her from going near. He hated her kind, she was told. She would look at his bakery from afar sometimes, mouth-watering at the sight. Sera didn’t know how someone who made such nice food could be filled with such hate.

She made his life hell for a while.

Even now, Sera doesn’t know who actually hated elves and who was just used by Lady Emmald to keep her pride intact. She’s not sure if she even wants to know.

All Sera knew was that she hated elves almost as much as she hated being one.

———

When Sera was seventeen, Lady Emmald passed away. She died from some sickness of the heart. Sera thought it was fitting: her selfish and prideful ways caused her own heart to fail. Nevertheless, Sera stayed with the Lady until her very last breath. She cried plenty, though she wasn’t sure why.

Lady Emmald had been a mother to her, no doubt, but that reason for her tears just didn’t seem right to Sera.

And then there was the issue of titles and land. Lady Emmald left everything she had to Sera in her will. If Sera wanted, she could life a modest and quiet life as Lady Sera Emmald. She would be just like all those nobles she had stole from as a child.

Sera… didn’t know what to do.

She remembered this one instance as clear as day. She hadn’t decided what she was going to do with her inheritance and decided to sit down on one of the park benches. Denerim was quiet these days, after the Fifth Blight. Thanks to some Grey Warden hero she can’t even remember.

All she had wanted was a place to sit and think in peace. What she got was that damn baker sitting down next to her, a bag of pastries in hand.

She turned to look at him and her mouth had dropped in shock. He smiled sadly at her, brown eyes twinkling with sorrow.

“I heard about Lady Emmald.” He said, his voice gentler than Sera had imagined, “I’ll pay my respects at her funeral.”

Sera’s mouth was left hanging open and she could only give a tiny nod to him. Why was he talking to her? She knew he could see her pointed ears at this angle, so why?

He handed her the bag and said, “We’ve never actually met but I’ve known you since you were a child. She loved you more than anything else in the world, you know? She always came by every week to buy you that batch of those cookies you like—”

Whatever he said after that was a mystery to Sera. All she remembered was feeling the world around her getting _heavier_ and then fleeing the scene. She never took the bag of goodies. She never saw him again, either.

She sold off the estate and the Emmald surname died with its’ last lady. Sera left Denerim with a bag of gold coins and a rucksack and never looked back.

Sera hated nobles like Emmald. Ones who would hurt the little people to make herself look good. Did she think Sera _cared_ if she couldn’t make any damn cookies? Maker, all she wanted was a mother.

But the Maker was not kind. After all, if everything was His Will then He was the one who made Sera all alone again.

———

Sera wasn’t lonely for too long, though. She travelled for a while. From Denerim to Highever, to Kirkwall and even Val Royeaux. An elf who hates nobles who pick on the little people can find many friends in big cities. Friends of Red Jenny, specifically.

She met many Jennies over the years. One was an elf who was as likely to light up a cigar as he was to light up a nobleman’s breeches on fire with a few stray fingers. Another was a human girl with a talented tongue. She even met a dwarven Jenny once. Now _she_ knew how to have fun.

Sera wouldn’t have even _thought_ of putting bees in a jar. Absolutely bonkers. She was happy enough to stick to her bow and arrows.

Being a Red Jenny sent Sera to cities all over Orlais and Fereldan. And she quickly learnt that in every city, there’s some noble prick who liked to bully his servants and those servants loved getting revenge.

That’s where Sera would come in. Sometimes it would be as simple as messing with some arrogant chevalier’s saddle so he falls in horse shit. Other times Sera would stick an arrow in some baroness’s kneecap while she was on her way back home to beat her kids.

Rarely, Sera would have to get her hands dirty. An estate-torching here, a minor assassination there. Whatever got those noble pricks to think twice about raising their hand to their servants.

She remembered the first time she killed. Her name was Lady Victoria Holton and she was one of the vilest people Sera had ever known. She organised the kidnapping of elves in her city’s alienage and then selling them off to Vints as slaves.

Lady Holton drank her afternoon tea and choked on Sera’s poison until she was purple all over. Sera didn’t regret a second of it.

Sera did well as a Jenny. She could choose which contracts she took and which to turn down. She never stayed in one place for long. _And_ she had plenty of time to explore the world and all the pretty woman inside it.

Humans were fun, sometimes, dwarves were a pleasant surprise to Sera and she had a few elves here and there. It was never anything serious. Just a bit of fun before she hit the road. Thedas was a big place and she wanted to see all of it.

Sera knew that she’d see places that most people would never see, and do things most people would never do. She wanted to kill a dragon, travel to every corner of Thedas and kick the arse of every entitled noble she met.

Maker, Sera hated nobles. The whole lot of them. Sure, there were some nice ones but even those ones never stopped the baddies from smacking down a servant who spilled wine on their _pristine_ silk shirt.

Sera had the chance to be a noble and she turned it down. That life wasn’t for her and she’d never fall for someone like that. There was no room for nobility in her life. Not anymore.

———

She was twenty-three when she learned about the Herald of Andraste. Someone who could seal the rifts and stop demons from terrorising everyone. Someone who could make the scary things disappear. Someone who could fix the bloody sky.

Sera didn’t know much about politics. She did know that the templars and the mages were scaring _everybody_ , demons were showing up everywhere and the hole in the sky needed to be stitched up. Nobody seemed to be doing anything to fix these problems.

Nobody except the Inquisition.

Sera decided it: _fuck it, why shouldn’t I join up?_ And so she did.

Now, when Sera imagined the Herald, she imagined someone larger-than-life. Someone like Andraste, all flaming hair and pretty and powerful. What she got was… a little different.

Morgana Trevelyan was pretty. Pretty enough to make you stare. But that was about it. She wasn’t tall (Sera had an inch on her), didn’t have some powerful aura — although she did glow a bit. Morgana looked even younger than Sera was. She didn’t act like an important person. When she smiled it was like honey dripped from her lips. She didn’t command your attention, she barely requested it.

_This_ was the Herald of Andraste? She was so… plain. Sera told her that much as well. Morgana just looked amused. She even laughed when those men came out without any pants on. Morgana seemed like someone you’d find at a tavern knocking back a pint, not the leader of a god-killing organisation.

Sera joined up anyway. She supposed it didn’t matter what the Herald looked like, just so long as she can fix the world.

———

When Sera found out that Morgana was actually _Lady Morgana of House Trevelyan_ , her eyes rolled so far into her head they almost got stuck.

Of course she’d get stuck with some noble idiot. At least she was easy on the eyes.

Everything had been fine at first. Sera made it to Haven just fine, although she wished she had brought extra furs with her to that freezing dump. She made quick friends with Varric and Cassandra was a riot. Solas was one of those elven pricks that looked at Sera like she was dirt for not being “elven” enough.

The Inquisition wasn’t much to look at when she got there but she was used to small, unstructured organisations, being a Jenny. She simply made herself at home in Haven’s tavern and chatted up every pretty thing that walked in.

And then Morgana tried flirting with her.

She was smooth with her words, too, like most nobles are. She was probably trained from birth to be a sweet-talker. Morgana was just like any other noble, looking to flirt around because she could.

Sera grinned and flirted back but knew she’d never take it any further than that. She didn’t mess around with Morgana’s lot and that was that.

———

The more Sera dug into Morgana’s life, the less Sera liked her. She was the fifth child of the House Trevelyan, the seventh most wealthy family in Ostwick. She was sent to the Circle when she was only ten because of course, she just _had_ to be a mage. She was apparently the most promising mage apprentice and was sent to the Conclave with the senior enchanters because of her nobility and magical ability.

A rich mage from nobility who was probably full of herself? Sera wanted no part of that.

Sera would make nice as long as Morgana did but that would be the extent of things. She liked keeping nobles at an arm’s length — or bow’s length, if need be.

———

Sera was determined to believe that Morgana was just another rich tit. Sure, she was easy on the eyes and quick with a joke. Sera enjoyed every chat they had whenever the Herald waltzed into the tavern.

But Morgana had to slip up eventually. People like her always do.

Sera was so confident in this belief… until Morgana took her to the Hinterlands. The damn place was ruined by the war between templars and mages, not to mention bandits who saw the vulnerable villagers as easy pickings. So many little people (farmers, stablehands, the like) were caught up in that mess and left in the shitter.

Morgana had spent an extra _week_ in the Hinterlands helping them.

She hunted rams and gave them to the hunter at the crossroads so he could feed the hungry refugees. She fought rebel mages and gave their supplies to the refugees who had no blankets on those cold nights. She even had the Inquisition build bloody watchtowers to help the people of Redcliffe look out for bandits.

The Herald of Andraste was apparently a fucking saint.

———

Morgana was almost too good to be true, really. Pretty, rich, funny, went out of her way to help the little people — Sera had yet to find any flaws. It was infuriating.

Even more so when Morgana continued to flirt with her.

They were sitting in Haven’s tavern, keeping close to the fireplace and huddled in their fur coats. Even in simple furs, Sera could tell Morgana came from nobility: the high cheekbones, the perfect posture and even the way she looked around the room.

“I’m curious about your background, Sera.” Morgana said over a cup of ale.

Sera quirked an eyebrow up and said, “Oh yeah? Interested, are you?”

Morgana only grinned and said, “Very. Where are you from? I’m guessing Fereldan by the accent but I’m not sure where.”

“All over?” Sera said, hoping she could escape this conversation. Personal stuff just wasn’t her thing.

Morgana just tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

Sera huffed and said, “OK, fine, Denerim for a bit. North. South. Wherever I wanted.”

“Oh? You’re from Wherever?” Morgana asked, mischief glinting in her eyes, “I’m from North Wherever!”

“What?” Sera asked, amused but confused.

“North Wherever. Oh, we had fun on Street and/or in Local Tavern.” Morgana said, laying the monotone on thick.

Sera finally caught on and rolled her eyes, saying, “Oh har-dee-har. All funny, you.”

Talking with the Herald was easy. Too easy. Sera didn’t like how easy it was to talk about stuff with Morgana. It made her skin crawl.

“It’s complicated. I don’t like complicated. Let’s leave it at that.” Sera murmured, adding, “Maybe.”

Morgana hummed but didn’t continue to prod, which Sera was grateful for. She watched Morgana take a long sip of her ale before licking the froth off her top lip. Sera balled her hands up into fists when she felt her chest give an unfamiliar twinge.

“How about a different question?” The Herald asked, “Who taught you how to use a bow? You’re a better shot than any of Cullen’s men and that’s saying something.”

Sera scoffed at the thought of Cullen and his pets. She said, “No one.”

“I doubt that.” Morgana said plainly.

“What? I picked it up here and there. Mostly it just makes sense.” Sera said, adding, “It’s not like that for you?”

Morgana shrugged, “With my magic, yes. But that’s probably a _bit_ different.”

Sera thought about Morgana’s magic for a moment. The crackle of lightning that curled around Morgana’s staff before she blasted some bandit flat on their arse. The smell of burnt wood that seemed to cling to her after every fight. How fucking _terrifying_ she looked to people like Sera.

And that was apparently the easy stuff.

“Is it an elf thing?” Morgana asked and laughter bubbled out of Sera.

“Most I know couldn’t find an arrow sitting on it.” She said, adding, “Right, maybe I just make it look easy in shite company. Fact still is, no teacher. Where would I find one in alleyways anyway? Pfft.”

You’d sooner find someone looking to rob you in an alleyway than someone willing to teach you how to defend yourself. Sera only had herself and she was happy this way.

“You don’t seem to like elves.” Morgana said, “You’re not like most of the elves I’ve met, either.”

“Thanks, right? Or was that an insult? Supposed I could go barefoot and whine more.” Sera said, “Like that Solas, right? _Never be as good as we were_. Well, who’s we? I’m just fine.”

Morgana tilted her head and said, “There’s a lot of lost tradition there. Don’t you have some sympathy for them?”

“What good is tradition? Does it feed hungry bellies or warm cold hands? Nope. So what’s the point?” Sera said solemnly, “The Dalish have their traditions but it’s just a bunch of stories that probably isn’t even true. It’s all fancy dress, not history.”

Sometimes Sera felt like she _could_ feel bad for the elves. But then she remembers the alienage and any sympathy dies in her throat, replaced by bitterness and resentment. She can still picture those hate-filled glares and bony pointed fingers if she closed her eyes.

Sera stood up and said, “Look, if you’re looking for an elfy-elf, Solas is just outside and up those stairs. I’ve got stuff to do and door hinges to loosen. See you later, Herald.”

And then she fled. She didn’t need Morgana reminding her of how bad she was at being an elf. She had enough of that for one lifetime.

———

The next time Sera talked one-on-one with the Herald, it’s not in a tavern for once.

Morgana had recruited a good number of people by now. That huge Qunari guy (Bull?), a Knight Enchanter, a Grey Warden — an odd party of people. And the Inquisition was growing bigger every day. Soon, Haven wouldn’t be big enough for everyone flocking towards the Herald.

Something about Morgana just… called to people. Especially the little people, Sera noticed. She had seen many new recruits in the courtyards and heard them talking in taverns. They were green as anything but they wanted something to believe in, _someone_ to believe in. And who better to believe in that Andraste’s chosen, the only person who could fix the sky?

Sera had expected all of this to go to Morgana’s head by now. But it never did. Morgana made a point to spend time with new recruits when she could, ease their worries and lift their spirits with a few jokes and warm words.

All hail Saint Morgana, Sera supposed.

Anyway, the next time they talked, it was in an dusty study room under Haven, a few feet away from the prison cells. Sera had been looking for empty jars for her latest prank but stumbled across something better.

Morgana was hunched over a desk, flicking through pages of text too small for Sera to care for. It made her head hurt to look at. Morgana’s face was scrunched up and she looked… tired. Sera had seen Morgana for weeks now and that was the first time she saw her without a grin on her face.

Sera stared for a while.

She stared for so long that Morgana noticed her in the corner of her eye and jumped out of her skin.

“Maker, Sera!” Morgana yelped, hand placed over her chest.

Sera felt the laughter bubble out of her and even let out a snort as she said, “You should’ve seen your face! Priceless.”

Morgana smiled so small it almost wasn’t there before sighing. Sera walked inside the study and looked around. It was filled with dust and cobwebs and smelled sharply of something Sera couldn’t quite place.

“A hello would have been preferable.” Morgana said, sinking back into her chair.

“What are you doing down here in the dark, _Lady_ Trevelyan?” Sera asked, planting her butt onto the desk beside Morgana.

“Reading up on some history.” The Herald said, dumping a thick tome onto the desk, “About the old Inquisition, specifically. I hope I can read _something_ in this book that can help me.”

“Help you with what?” Sera asked, tilting her head.

She was at a bit of loss in this conversation. Besides a few flirts here and there, Sera didn’t know the Herald all that well. She didn’t know how to comfort her or anything like that. Not to mention that, until now, Sera thought that Morgana was the only one who just knew what to do.

Now that Morgana was telling her exactly the opposite…

Morgana sighed and said, “Help me with doing the right thing.”

“I don’t know what to do about the mages or the templars. I don’t know who to help or how to help them. I don’t even know what the hell happened to me or how I got here. I just—“ Morgana cut herself off and buried her head in her hands.

Morgana looked so _small_. So small and afraid, not unlike a younger Sera. The comparison made Sera’s heart twinge in her chest.

She placed a careful hand on Morgana’s head, as if afraid she’d break under her touch. When the Herald didn’t flinch away, Sera gave her hair a few awkward strokes. She tried to remember Lady Emmald’s soft hands threading through her blonde locks after a particularly bad nightmare. The memory was fuzzy around the edges but she tried.

“Take a breath, yeah? You look like you’re about to explode… which might even happen since you’re a mage and everything.” Sera said, glancing at the Herald’s hands as if they’d glow any second now.

Morgana let out a final sigh before straightening her back out and sitting up in the chair, posture perfect again.

Sera tried to forget how soft her hair felt under her fingers.

“Sorry, I doubt you came here to hear me complain about my problems.” Morgana said, smiling easily.

Sera paused only for a second. She wondered how often Morgana had these low moments, all vulnerable and sad. She was younger than Sera and had the weight of the world on her shoulders. How was that fair?

Oh well, that’s just life. Life’s not fair for a lot of people.

“True,” Sera said, swinging her legs in the air, “I came down here to find a jar. A _big one_.”

Morgana wore an amused but suspicious face and asked, “What for?”

Sera giggled, saying, “Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

She didn’t think telling the Herald about how she was planning to put bees in a jar was a good idea.

Morgana went back to business once more. She wore an easy smile throughout the conversation and asked all the right questions. She asked about the Jennies, about Sera and even her damn life’s philosophy. Sera answered in kind, never shying away from her disdain for nobles.

Sera expected Morgana to get upset. To tell her that she wasn’t like all the other nobles. To get offended and show her true colours. But she received none of that. What she got was a very curious and attentive Herald hanging onto her every word.

Sera realised, as she looked at Morgana, why people felt so compelled to follow her: Morgana treated people like they were worth listening to. To a little person, something so simple meant the whole world to them and Morgana seemed to understand that.

Maybe Morgana wasn’t as bad as the rest. And maybe Sera was OK with that.

———

Just when Sera was beginning to like Morgana, she went and became buddy-buddy with the rebel mages. That would’ve been fine if Morgana hadn’t dragged them back to Haven with her.

Sera was with the Herald when they went to meet the magister in Redcliffe. He had been sitting on his cushy little throne and might as well have been twirling a moustache and laughing evilly. Sera appreciated that Morgana didn’t waste time on him.

(“Don’t bother, Alexius. I know you brought me here to kill me. Let’s skip the pleasantries, yes?”)

And then she had watched Morgana and that Tevinter mage (Dorian?) get sucked into this giant magicky hole before being spat out moments later.

It was the strangest thing. Morgana left with a smug smile on her face in one moment, and then returned the next looking like someone murdered her entire family. It was… terrifying. Sera didn’t even know that Morgana had that much hatred inside her to look at someone like that. She was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of that glare.

So the baddie had iron slapped around his wrists by Inquisition soldiers and was dragged away to Haven. They saved the day and could go home, right? Wrong.

Queen Anora herself walks into Redcliffe. As if the sky being torn open wasn’t strange enough, now there were kings and queens walking around.

They exchanged some words and before Sera knew what was happening, the Inquisition had an alliance with the rebel mages. Except they weren’t rebels anymore — Morgana declared that they were their own people, a free organisation.

Just great.

Haven was overflowing with curtains and drapes after that. Sera couldn’t take a few steps without tripping over a mage. She didn’t like it one bit.

Couldn’t Morgana just stick ‘em up a tower like the Chantry did? It was safer like that. Nobody got hurt when mages weren’t around.

Sera supposed that Morgana, being a former Circle mage, would disagree. But Sera had seen magic differently than she had. To Sera, magic wasn’t this wonderful little trick to show off at parties. Magic wasn’t a force of good or a blessing from the Maker.

Magic was a ball of fire shot from shaking hands that quickly spread and consumed everything in its’ path. Magic was destruction. There was nothing refined about it. Magic was fear, and dominance, and evil.

She had seen it with her own eyes: mages who toyed with others using whatever magic they wanted. Mages summoning demons to do their dirty work. Mages using _blood magic_ to bring the dead back to life and more.

Sera didn’t want magic anywhere near her. And she planned on telling Morgana exactly that.

She barged into the Inquisitor’s room the night after Redcliffe. Morgana was already in bed when Sera slammed the door open and yelped in surprise. Sera, despite being so upset, always enjoyed scaring the skittish noble.

“Maker’s balls, you have to stop doing that.” Morgana murmured, clutching at her chest.

Silk. She was wearing a silk shirt to bed because _of course she was_. Sera felt the anger swell up inside her chest again.

“Thanks to you, we’ve got enough curtains for all of Fereldan right here in Haven.” Sera said, shutting the door behind her. The winter snows were nothing to sniff at: the cold could worm its’ way inside your body like nothing else.

Morgana sighed and sat up, saying, “I’m guessing you aren’t happy with this.”

“Right you are, _Lady Trevelyan_.” Sera said, “I mean, getting allies to close the rift is great and all, but now we’ve got mages _everywhere_. Couldn’t you just put them in a tower until we’re done with this whole rift thing?”

There was a pause. Up until now, Sera had always had easy conversations with the Herald. Ones filled with laughter and flirting and jokes and general loudness. This silence was deafening.

Morgana glanced up at Sera and asked, “Should I be in that tower with them, Sera?”

There was nothing in her eyes. No hint of emotion. It scared Sera more than anything. Morgana had always been so full of life, nothing like… this.

Sera almost flinched. She shook her head, saying, “What? No, of course not. That’s— That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Morgana asked plainly, “Because it sounds like you were asking me to put my people in the same chains they fought to break out of.”

Sera felt like a fish out of water. She hadn’t meant it like that. She just didn’t want mages around her, not… _that_.

Morgana seemed to deflate right in front of her eyes. She looked so tired. She looked up at Sera with those sad, burdened eyes and she nearly melted.

“Sit.” Morgana asked, adding a gentle, “Please.”

Sera could’ve left. She could just turn around and go back to the tavern and drink herself half-blind so that she’d forget those stupid, sad eyes looking at her. She could leave and know that Morgana would never hold it against her.

She sat down and hugged her knees to her chest. Morgana looked a little more confident now as Sera watched her.

“I was ten when the templars came and got me. My parents had done their best to prolong my departure but it had to happen eventually. I was prepared… as prepared as any child can be before they get dragged off to live in a tower for the rest of their life.” Morgana began mirthlessly.

Sera tried to imagine it: a young Morgana being dragged off to some tower by templars. She wondered if she struggled and cried, or if she was just as gentle and pliant as she was now. Morgana wasn’t much younger than Sera had been when was taken in by Lady Emmald.

In a moment of clarity, Sera realised something. At around the same age, Morgana was taken away from her family while Sera was given one.

Morgana fiddled with her fingers and said, “My parents told me that I’d probably never see them again. They said that they’d write letters and send gifts whenever they could. That my brothers and sisters would miss me. That _they’d_ miss me.”

“I was treated better than most apprentices, I know that.” Morgana admitted, adding, “They treated me better than most because of my last name. Trevelyan. It held some weight in Ostwick.”

Sera huffed softly and said, “Bet the other kids just loved you for that.”

Morgana smiled tightly, “You’re right. They probably saw some noble brat from a rich family that was getting special treatment. They wanted nothing to do with me, and I wanted nothing to do with them.”

Sera could see it now. A young Morgana, too small for her apprentice robes, studying alone while the other children shunned her. Sera bet that she took all that in stride, just as she does now as the Herald.

So Morgana had been a friendless child just like Sera. What an odd parallel.

“You were lonely.” Sera said simply.

There wasn’t more to it than that. Loneliness was a horrible beast that never truly left you. It fed on your self-doubts and the glares and cold shoulders of others. Sera knew it all too well and never imagined that Morgana would know what that felt like.

Morgana shook her head softly, saying, “Not always. I had Lydia. She was the Circle’s First Enchanter, which is basically its’ leader. She was like a mother to me. She taught me how to use magic to _help_ people. She showed me how to feel comfortable in my own skin and—”

A lump in Morgana’s throat stopped the words from coming out. Sera swore she saw tears pooling in her eyes before she blinked them away.

A thick swallow later and Morgana continued, saying, “She was killed by one of her own students when the mages rebelled. She died in my arms.”

Sera felt something die inside her. If they could, she knew her ears would’ve drooped at what Morgana said. Sera knew what it was like to have your mother die in your arms, but murder? That was an entirely different matter.

She reached out and held Morgana’s hand before her mind realised what she was doing. Morgana’s hand was so cold under hers and they twitched at the contact.

With as much conviction as she could muster, Sera said, “I’m so sorry.”

Morgana bowed her head and pulled her hand away. Sera tried not to take it to heart, knowing she would’ve done the same. She didn’t handle comfort well either. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though.

“I wanted to hate mages. The rebels, especially, for all the mess and chaos they caused. But I just can’t.”

Morgana sounded so upset with herself. Sera wanted to hit her and make her understand that she shouldn’t beat herself up for the actions of other idiots. That she shouldn’t be angry at herself for not hating someone.

The Herald looked up at Sera, asking, “Did you know that the Circles keep a vial of all mages’ blood? Phylacteries, they call them. They took mine and told me not to worry about it. They take our blood so that if we ever try to escape, they can hunt us down like mad dogs. I guess it’s only blood magic if mages do it.”

Sera didn’t know that. She looked away, remembering her earlier comments with guilt pooling in her stomach.

Morgana spoke with such intense malice in her voice, spitting out, “The templars were nice to me because of my last name. They aren’t always kind to others. Sometimes they hurt mages just because they can. Because it’s fun. Because it’s supposed to _temper us_ like we’re a sword and not a living fucking being.”

“I know about mages who throw themselves from the tower because they can’t handle the loneliness anymore. Mages can never see their families again. Some can’t even be in relationships, let alone have children. Maker, they tear the child away from the mother right after they’re born. If they’re not a mage, they’re basically owned by the Chantry. If they are a mage, they send them to a completely different Circle.”

She was quiet for a few moments and Sera tried to absorb everything she was hearing. She knew that the Chantry wasn’t perfect but this? Taking children away from their parents, being claimed and owned like inventory? It just… wasn’t right.

Morgana put some steel in her voice and said, “In Circles, mages aren’t people anymore. I can’t— I _won’t_ put them through that again. If I can give them a chance at a better life, I’ll do it.”

Sera wanted to laugh. She really was a fucking saint, wasn’t she? Doing everything she could to make the world a better place for the little people. In another life, Morgana must’ve been a martyr or a literal saint. She was just too good to be true.

“Looking out for the little guy, huh?” Sera said with a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood, “Maybe you are Red Jenny material after all.”

Morgana let out a puff of laughter as she fiddled with her hands. An anxious habit she seemed to have. Sera had seen those very hands conjure up lightning but right then, they looked so safe and comforting.

Sera had a lot to think about. Stuff about the Chantry, and magic, and mages, and stupidly pretty, saintly mages who made Sera _think_ about stuff. For now, she’d just respect Morgana’s decisions. Or, at least, put up with them.

She just had one more question to ask.

For the first time ever, Sera said the Herald’s name: “Morgana.”

The noble in question looked up at Sera in surprise. Sera tried not to think about how well her name sat in her mouth.

She asked, “What happened? When you got sucked up by that hole.”

A dark look passed over Morgana’s face and the breath in Sera’s throat stilled for a moment. It was only the shadow of anger but it was enough to scare Sera.

“Alexius used some sort of spell to send us through time. He sent us two years ahead of today.” Morgana began gently.

Time magic? That’s… shit.

Morgana continued, saying, “The Elder One had won while I was gone. Nobody was there to seal the rifts with me being gone. It… it was so horrible, Sera. The sky was green all the time and demons were _everywhere_. Red lyrium grew like elfroot out of _people_ and—“

The words died in her throat. Sera could feel her breathing pick up as she thought about a world filled with demons and magic and monsters. She had to grab at her clothes to centre herself back to reality, to remind herself she was here and not in some horrible, demon-infested future.

“You were there.”

Sera’s head snapped up. Her?

“They messed with your mind so bad. The red lyrium, it, it infected you and made you look… not right. You couldn’t remember things well and you thought I was a demon sent to trick you. I tried to calm you down but…” Morgana trailed off, seemingly lost in her own memories.

Hands curled into fists and Morgana said, “I couldn’t save that Sera. I couldn’t save that world. But I have to save this one. I can’t see that ever again. I can’t.”

Oh. That’s why she looked so angry. Because of Sera. Well, the world too but that wasn’t what Sera chose to focus on. Morgana, in her own way, wanted to protect Sera.

Sera told herself that her ears did _not_ flush red and that her heart racing was nothing important. What she did tell herself was to lay off the Herald for a while: she wasn’t like the other nobles. She was one of the good ones — the _actually_ good ones.

———

Corypheus. A fucking darkspawn — or was it an ancient magister? Sera couldn’t keep up with this new villain and all his titles. Or his frigging _Archdemon dragon pet_.

Andraste, when it rained it poured.

Corphy-face (she wouldn’t call him by his actual name anymore — he didn’t deserve the privilege) had attacked Haven only a few hours ago. Him and his dragon and army of red templars. Sera had fought alongside Morgana as they fought back the red lyrium-consumed templars.

It was terrifying. They looked like monsters, the abominations that templars are supposed to protect people from. Sera had always liked the templars a bit more than mages: they were the good guys, right? She knew they belonged to the Chantry and stopped mages from hurting people.

But this? How was a red templar any better than a corrupted mage? Sera looked into the eyes of a red templar and saw nothing but hatred inside them.

They fought tooth and nail to keep Corphenus’ forces back. Morgana had led the charge, clearing the way for the catapults and taking down a red templar behemoth all by herself. Sera was always drawn to watching Morgana fight. How she commanded lightning at will and tore through enemy after enemy with precision. It was incredible and Sera was glad the Herald was on _her_ side.

They managed to wipe out a good amount of the enemy forces with an avalanche and Sera thought they had a second to breathe. That was until a frigging Archdemon came swooping in and destroyed everything.

Sera remembered how her legs shook as she watched that dragon fly through the skies. It had such a terrible roar, filled with hatred and evil. It was evil incarnate.

They fell back to the Chantry after that. Morgana, the bloody saint, made sure to save everyone on the way because of course she would. She always risked her neck to save someone else and Sera both loved and hated her for that.

Why couldn’t she understand that she shouldn’t risk her life so easily? Dammit, there were people who cared about her, too.

Sera thought they were safe once they were inside the Chantry. The Chantry walls had always given Sera some comfort since she was a child and that hadn’t changed. That chancellor guy mentioned some underground escape route and Sera breathed a sigh of relief.

Until Morgana volunteered to be used as a distraction.

(“It’s me he wants. Get everyone out of here, don’t worry about me! Go!”)

Sera wanted to punch her. Kick her teeth in. Anything to make her see some sense. Why was she doing this? They could escape! Morgana could just come with them, why did she have to play the hero? The frigging _martyr_. If Morgana was going to save everyone else then who was going to save Morgana?

Sera would kill Morgana if she died, she swore that on Andraste herself.

Morgana left the Chantry doors and Sera swallowed down a thick lump in her throat as she watched her go. When the doors slammed shut behind her, Sera led the people to the escape route personally. If Morgana was going to play the hero and risk her life to save people, Sera would make sure that as many people as possible were saved.

It took far too long for everyone to get out of Haven through the escape route. It was only when Sera herself was following behind the refugees, bow gripped tightly in her hands, that they heard it: the sound of a catapult firing and an avalanche following.

Sera watched the avalanche swallow Haven and, moments later, the dragon flew off. She had a sickening, sinking feeling in her gut and told herself the tears in her eyes were from the cold winter winds.

Fuck.

The Inquisition was a few thousand strong now and all of them were travelling through thick snows, shivering and feeling hopeless. Someone was leading them through the Frostback Mountains to Maker knows where.

Every step of the way, Sera wanted to turn back. She wanted to sprint back to Haven and dig through every pile of snow and drag Morgana out so she could kick her arse. Stupid, self-sacrificing idiot.

And then Morgana came back.

The Inquisition had set up camp and were warming up by the fire when the yelling began. Sera ignored it at first, too lost in her own thoughts. Then she thought Coryphellus had found them and she grabbed her bow, ready to empty her arrows into his face for Morgana.

That’s when she saw it. Inquisition soldiers were carrying a body on their shoulders, making people part as they rushed towards the makeshift infirmary. Sera only caught a few words (“Found her!” “collapsed” “snows“) but she had seen enough.

Morgana. Her hand was glowing green and bright and _strong_. Sera could’ve cried with relief. The idiot was alive.

Sera kept her distance for the most part. She never went near the sleeping Herald, too afraid. Afraid of what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Morgana was alive and that was enough for now. Sera told herself that she was so relieved because Morgana was the only one who could save the world. That the happiness consuming her was because her friend was safe and nothing more.

She wouldn’t entertain any other possibility, even if her gut told her otherwise.

———

Inquisitor Trevelyan. It had a nice ring to it.

An Inquisitor of the people. An Inquisitor dedicated to defeating Corypheus and sealing the breach. No strings attached, no hidden agendas.

It was so strange to Sera, seeing someone in power who did the right thing just because it’s the right thing to do. She supposed that if anyone were to have the power of a god, she was glad it was Morgana and no one else.

They hadn’t talked since the night of the attack. Not really. Only a few glances and smiles here and there.

Until Morgana had approached her right after the whole Inquisitor speech.

Sera gave Morgana a piece of her mind. (“Remember that war we talked about stopping? Full of little baddies I can stick with little arrows? That’s not a frigging Archdemon, is it?”) Because the truth was that Sera was scared. Scared that all those myths and legends and Chantry stories were _real_ because _Corypheus_ was real and _the Black City_ was real and _the Maker’s throne_ was real and—

It was all too real, too fast. Sera had always been a believer but this was too much. And there she was, yelling all of this to the Maker’s chosen, the Herald of Andraste.

Maker, she blamed Morgana and her pretty face for getting her into this. She told her this too, and Morgana had the nerve to flirt. Flirt! After everything that happened! And then she asked Sera to stick around in case something (or someone) might interest her. As if Sera could leave now. No, no, she still had to punch Coryphy-spit in the danglebag.

(And maybe she already found someone worth sticking around for. Maybe.)

———

The Verchiel March went arse-up because of course it did.

The Inquisitor made sure the Inquisition came out on top, as usual. Sera wanted to beat that Lord Harmond’s into a pulp — she knew his kind and he probably deserved worse. Nobles like him got little people killed so he could feed his pride.

But Sera had a noble of her own: Lady Trevelyan. And _her_ noble made Harmond give up his lands and titles and requisitioned them for the Inquisition. He worked for them now. Morgana had him on a leash and Sera had no doubt that she’d let Sera tug on that leash as much as she wanted.

Being friends with the Inquisitor had its’ perks, but it was also a bit confusing for Sera. The mission clearly puckered around them and it was Sera’s fault, but Morgana didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she turned a shitty situation into a golden opportunity and gave Sera the credit. Who did that?

(“I don’t want this to get in the way of you staying. I like having you here.” Morgana said simply, a warm smile on her face.

Sera grinned back, saying, “I could see that, _Lady Trevelyan_. I could.”)

It was easier to think that Morgana only kept Sera around because she wanted to get into her breeches. It wasn’t true, but it was easier to think that way. She didn’t want to consider that Morgana wanted something more.

———

For once in Sera’s life, she was attending a royal ball that she was actually invited to and not for a Red Jenny mission. No sneaking around and no need to hold back with the nobles who gave her trouble.

She was sure that the nobles she offended would be sending an assassin or two her way — she wondered if even one of those assassins would make it passed Morgana. Or, hell, even passed Leliana.

Josephine made everyone wear Inquisition uniforms while attending the ball. Something about a “unified front” and “presentability” or whatever. So Sera was dressed in fine silks, gold jewellery and this stupid red sash.

She thought she looked off in it but Morgana seemed to like it.

(“Maker…” Morgana had breathed out, staring at Sera with wide eyes. Gold eyes looked Sera up and down like she was made of precious gems.

Sera ignored her reddening ears and asked, “Like what you see, _Lady Trevelyan_?”

“Absolutely.”)

The rest of Morgana’s companions wore their own thing, tailored to suit them. Dorian wore some black robe that was offensively Tevinter and Bull wore a traditional Qunari outfit that made him look even _bigger_ than he already was. Vivienne, Leliana and Josephine wore ballgowns of varying styles and colours — they looked like they actually belonged there. Cassandra and Cullen wore ceremonial armour because of course they did. Varric wore something that was a cross between Dwarven and Fereldan, and still managed to show off his chest hair. Cole… Sera didn’t wanna think about that thing. And Solas was wearing some elfy robe thingy that Sera was gonna use to trip him later.

All of these outfits had the Inquisition symbol displayed boldly on them, one way of the other.

And as for the Inquisitor herself? Well, let’s just say that if Sera didn’t want to bed her before, she definitely does now.

A back-less ballgown that showed off that perfect back? Check. Black hair that usually spilled over her shoulders like ink now tied up into a bun to show off her neck? Check. The perfect amount of makeup to make Morgana look oh-so unapproachable? Check.

But as good as she looked, Sera could tell she felt uncomfortable. Morgana fiddled with the lace in her dress where it itched her, and kept biting at her reddened lips when it got too sticky. The Inquisitor was the type of woman who felt at home in armour and with a staff in her hand, not at a party like this.

Sera watched Morgana slip out of her dress and into her armour like it was a warm bath.

(“Feel better, Inky?” Sera asked, nudging her with her elbow.

Morgana grinned and said, “Not exactly a fan of lace. Did you enjoy yourself, watching me undress and all?”

“Absolutely,” Sera grinned back, “I didn’t know that you had a mole on your—”

“Can we _please_ focus?” Cassandra pleaded, a tinge of desperation in her voice. Off to the side, Dorian buried his face in his hands and groaned.

Morgana and Sera snickered quietly.)

The only reason they came to this place was to save the empress. She was well pretty, and apparently made bedfellows with the ambassador Briala. Sera guffawed at that: a noble, an _empress_ , being with an elf. She supposed that’s what people may think if they knew how often Sera and Morgana flirted.

She shoved that thought aside. She didn’t care about what other people thought so why should she bother now? Whatever Morgana and Sera had was between them.

But that begged the question: what _did_ they have between them? Sera was happy to flirt and joke around when Morgana wanted to but was that it? Did Morgana want more? Did _Sera_ want more?

She tried not to think about it. Made her head hurt.

Instead, she was given an ample distraction. Venatori agents, a murder plot and someone _actually murdering_ servants. Sera had stumbled into the kitchen and almost tripped over a dead elf. Their throats had been slit and their eyes were wide with horror. They died terrified.

(“Motherfrigging piss-bags, shit-heel _arseholes_ —“ Sera began to curse, hands shaking.

No one ever cared for the little people. No one cared if a servant or two died for their own petty needs. Nobody would mourn for them and some would never be remembered. Damn it all.

Sera felt a hand curl around her shoulder. She turned to look back and found Morgana scowling at the bodies littered across the floor. She never took her eyes off of them.

“Let’s go.”

Sera almost shuddered. She knew that if she didn’t tear their killers limb from limb, Morgana would gladly do it for her.)

After that, Sera had little to do for a while. She collected Red Jenny caches and annoyed nobles when she could but otherwise, she had to sit and wait. Wait for _something_ to happen.

At one point, she watched Morgana dance with the duchess. Morgana was a natural: she had barely any practice with ballroom dancing yet she danced the pants off Florianne. She played the stupid Orlesian game of honeyed and empty words like she was born to do so — then again, Morgana _was_ born for this life. The life of nobility and elegance, of deceit and wordplay.

Sera watched Morgana dance and felt powerless. There was no room for an elf like Sera in the Inquisitor’s life. At least not seriously. They may work together and flirt together but Sera realised that’s as far as she’d ever go with Morgana.

Maybe it was better that way. Still hurt, though. Hurt like shit and made Sera feel sick to her stomach.

The evening went on. Morgana let Florianne assassinate the empress and then killed Florianne, with Sera’s help. Sera enjoyed putting holes in Florianne when she remembered the dead servants. She just wished she brought her bee jar.

They battled ended and Morgana left again, off to do her Inquisitor duties and leaving Sera behind again. The next time she saw Morgana, she was standing next to Gaspard with Briala lurking in the shadows behind them.

An elf in power? Great. Sera snorted and thought that Solas probably creamed his pants at the news, before promptly feeling ill and tried to think of anything except that. Ew.

The ball got fun after that. People were celebrating and drinking and chucking their guts up. It was exactly what Sera was waiting for the entire night and yet, when it happened, all she could think about was that Morgana was missing out. That she needed to be there with Sera so she could enjoy herself.

So Sera went looking for Morgana.

She found the Inquisitor leaning against the balcony railing, head hung low. Sera watched as some woman in a purple dress left as Sera was walking in and tried not to think about that too much.

“Hey, you! They brought out the booze, and now a De Launcet is chucking guts into Lord Some-Git’s helmet!” Sera said cheerfully, hoping to lift the Inquisitor’s spirits.

She came up to Morgana’s side and mirrored her position, leaning her head in close. Morgana gave her a small, tired smile. She looked so exhausted.

“You’re missing the fun part.” Sera said, bumping their shoulders together, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just…” Morgana began, gripping the railing tightly. “Corypheus doesn’t care about what he throws at us. How many lives he ruins. So many more are going to die. I just let a woman die because I thought it was the right thing to do, for Orlais at least. But what if I’m wrong? What if I’m making all the wrong decisions?”

Sera shook her head, saying, “What you did saved way more lives among way better people. That’s all we can hope for, right? To save better people.”

Morgana sighed and looked a little lighter than she was moments ago. Pride swelled up in Sera’s chest: _she_ did that. She did a good thing.

An idea popped into Sera’s head and she grinned mischievously.

“How about we empty their cellar?” Sera said, adding, “Would that help? It would help me.”

Morgana’s answer wasn’t what Sera was expecting.

“Sera?” She said quietly, “Dance with me.”

Sera didn’t know what to do. Nervous laughter bubbled out of her as she stood up straight, taken aback. Dancing? Oh Maker, this would not end well.

“I don’t…” Sera began saying, but paused.

_I don’t dance well_. She wanted to say. _I don’t dance well and I don’t want to make a fool of myself because you’re an amazing dancer and you’re wonderful and I really like you—_

Morgana smiled softly at Sera and she melted.

“You be careful, or I will absolutely stomp your pinky.” Sera warned her, cautiously taking Morgana’s hand.

Morgana pulled her in and asked, “Is that an innuendo?”

Sera giggled, saying, “No, it’s up the front!”

And so they danced. Morgana was an even better dancer in person than she was from afar. Sera did, in fact, stomp Morgana’s pinky but the latter only laughed and teased Sera. She was like one of those stupid princes in shining armour from the stories Lady Emmald used to tell her.

Sera told her that she didn’t want a prince, she wanted a princess.

Looking at Morgana now, smiling and glowing with glee, she decided she didn’t need a princess. An Inquisitor was worth a thousand stupid princesses.

(And yes, Sera and Morgana did end the night by dumping multiple kegs of peach brandy on a group of nobles before racing off into the night giggling. And yes, Sera couldn’t have been happier.)

———

Life went on after that, as it always does. Sera managed to rope Morgana into more pranks. Morgana had been a bit unsure about it at first—

(“Are you sure _I_ should be doing this?” Morgana asked nervously, “I’m their leader. You know, the Inquisitor?”

“Right, they’ll never suspect you!”)

But Sera assured her it was necessary. Pranks were good for morale and it was the Inquisitor’s job to inspire her people. If anything, Sera was doing her a favour.

Sera enjoyed their time together. She got a nice view when following the Inquisitor around. And Morgana was more of a trickster than anyone knew, including Sera. The pies with numbing cream prank had been entirely her idea. As well as adding the Coryphy-face piñata that _someone_ planted in the middle of the courtyard (which was promptly beaten into a pulp). And then there was the—

You get the point.

Sera felt like she was back with the Red Jennies again. Pranking people and laughing until her sides hurt. It felt like old times.

It took some time for Sera to realise that Morgana felt like home sometimes. That revelation knocked her on her arse.

Sera was getting anxious. She _hated_ feeling anxious. She hated how she couldn’t sit still and how her heart raced and how her stomach churned and knotted up. She hated the fear that seemed to come hand in hand with anxiety.

She was anxious because Sera wanted more. More _from_ Morgana and more _of_ her. She wanted Morgana and that was scary, dammit. She had wanted lots of women before but never like this. Flings had been fun while they lasted but Sera never got attached. She never thought she was capable of attachment.

That was until Morgana. Until Morgana danced with her and made her feel like Andraste herself. Until Morgana joined in on her pranks whole-heartedly. Until Morgana made her feel like she could have something special. Something permanent. Something real.

But Sera had no idea how to tell her that. Words weren’t her strong suit, never have been. If you ask her to shoot an arrow into the eye of a moving target, she could do that. Confess her feelings, bare her soul and face possible rejection? No, thank you.

Fortunately, Sera wasn’t the one to start talking.

It was just a normal day. No missions to go on but the weather was warm and sunny. Sera was curled up by the window, napping like a cat and feeling oh-so lazy. She was just beginning to drift off to sleep when she heard a light knocking on her door.

Her eyes fluttered open and she found Morgana leaning against the doorframe, smiling gently down at her.

“Hey, you.” Sera murmured, stretching her limbs out.

“Hey, yourself.” Morgana replied, watching her curiously, “Sleeping in the afternoon? It’s not like you need the beauty sleep.”

Sera sat up against the warm window and grinned, saying, “You’re a sweet-talker, you are.”

Morgana just shrugged coyly.

“What brings you down here, Herald?” Sera asked.

“I was thinking we should get to know each other.” Morgana said, her intentions clear as anything.

Sera raised an eyebrow. Was it really happening now? Was Sera ready for it to happen? Fuck it. What better time than now?

“Take a seat.” Sera said, nudging her chin towards the seat opposite her.

Morgana was soon lounging in the sun, glowing like a bloody saint in the sunlight. Sera took a moment to stare and realise that a woman _that pretty_ was interested in her. Talk about a confidence boost.

“So. You’ve been chatting me up.” Sera began, smirking, “I heard that, yeah? And seen the looks.”

Morgana was beginning to look nervous now. She hid it well but Sera knew her tells by now. She was bouncing her knee and biting at her lip while Sera talked. Was Morgana serious about this? As serious as Sera was?

She continued, a little more solemnly, “That’s all fun and such, out there walking around. But maybe there’s more in your head? Like you want to be more?”

Sera was rocking the boat now. She didn’t mean say the M-word but it just slipped out and there was no taking it back now. And maybe she didn’t want to.

“I mean, you’re good on the eyes. Fun. It could go pretty good if the human thing works out.” Sera said.

Morgana frowned, asking, “Is there something wrong with me being human?”

Sera scoffed and said, “You tell me, _Lady Trevelyan_. It’s your people who always get a hair up the arse about it. _Oh, the Inquisitor took an elf. Of course she did. She’s taking advantage of…_ some rubbish, I don’t even know.”

Morgana only looked amused at Sera’s attempt of a racist impression.

“I like you just fine. I’d bed you now. Just be ready for that talk from idiots. Because they’re idiots.” Sera said, searching for any doubt in Morgana’s eyes.

“So you’re not worried about me being the Inquisitor? The Herald?” Morgana asked, genuinely surprised.

Why would that be a problem? Wait…

“Did… that do something to you… down there?” Sera asked. She looked down pointedly at Morgana’s lap and was met with a warning look from the Herald.

Sera realised what she meant and said, “Oh, the Andraste stuff! She’s not, you know, _here_ , so so what? Or is it because you’re in charge? Because if there’s a problem, I won’t lose _my_ job. Isn’t that right, Inky?”

“Really?” Morgana asked, “If we’re together, you’ll call me Inky?”

“What?” Sera said, “I make fun of titles because they’re stupid.”

Morgana made a face, saying, “But as a pet name?”

Sera grinned and said, “Oh, it’s a thing with you? Well, let me have it then. Lean in, like it’s real dark, and whisper your naked name.”

Morgana rolled her eyes but smiled and complied. The two leaned in closer together but before Morgana could even say anything, Sera burst out into laughter and leaned back.

“No, I’m calling it.” Sera said, adding, “Now I like Tadwinks.”

Morgana smiled so wide that her eyes almost closed and Sera thought it was adorable. Tadwinks it was.

The Inquisitor looked nervous again for a reason that Sera couldn’t place. She wrung her hands together and asked, “Don’t you want to get to know each other a bit before jumping into bed?”

Sera rolled her eyes, saying, “We’ve been walking all over the bloody place. That’s time listening, talking… watching your arse. How is _real_ getting-to-know different from that? You only counting words when I wink or something?”

Morgana seemed to be at a loss for words. Sera decided to make things easy for her.

“I like you, I don’t play with just anyone, and I don’t share.” Sera said, adding, “That’s why we’re talking now. _Still_ talking.”

Sera was eager to jump into bed because sex is easy. Sex was familiar and Sera could be in control again. It was better than talking about her feelings.

Morgana swallowed thickly.

“Do you want to stop talking?” Sera asked.

The Inquisition inhaled sharply and straightened her spine out, sitting up just a little taller. Putting some steel in her voice, she said, “Sera. I’m inviting you up to my chambers.”

How cute.

“No, I’m racing you there. I win, I lock the door!” Sera said, grinning from ear to ear.

The two of them raced off, giggling the whole way there.

———

Sera didn’t get a chance to lock the door after all. Morgana had beaten Sera to the door, looking mighty proud of herself.

“You’ve got stamina.” Sera noted, “Good. That will make things fun.”

Morgana froze. She looked like she got hit by one of Solas’ frost spells, all rigid and unmoving. Sera tilted her head and frowned.

“What’s wrong? You look weird.” Sera said.

Morgana seemed to snap out of it and she shook her head, putting a smile on her face. Sera could tell it was fake from a mile away. What was up with her?

The Inquisitor’s chamber was nice. The bed itself was covered in thick furs and a silk bed sheet, with a canopy above it. Morgana’s usual armour was placed on top of a desk drawer within’s arms reach. Magic tomes and books littered her desk, along with scrolls and letters. Sera was standing in the heart of the empire.

And about to conquer its’ empress.

Sera smirked and began walking towards Morgana. Her stomach fluttered as she realised the thing she had been imagining for weeks now was about to come true. She was actually going to kiss Morgana — bed her, too!

This will be grand.

Morgana swallowed as Sera got closer and walked back unconsciously. Sera’s smirk grew wider when she saw that Morgana was about to trip and fall back onto the bed. Once she did, Sera silently pounced on top of her and pinned Morgana’s hands to the bed.

She was breathless beneath Sera, chest heaving with each breath. Gold eyes were drinking in Sera’s face as she bent down closer to the Inquisitor’s lips.

“Come on, Tadwinks,” Sera murmured, “Lay one on me.”

Morgana let out a shaky breath before leaning up tentatively. Sera hummed and leaned down to meet her, lips hovering just above hers. If Morgana wanted a kiss, she’d have to work for it.

Sera felt Morgana arch her back into stomach as she murmured, “Please… I—”

She was cut off by Sera’s lips crashing against hers. Sera wasn’t being gentle now, she was desperate to get what she had been waiting for. Morgana made a noise of surprise but it was lost inside the kiss.

Morgana was… not a great kisser. She didn’t seem to know what she was doing and it showed. Sera hoped she was just out of practice, otherwise she’d have to put that mouth to better use.

Sera continued to kiss Morgana, slowing down to allow Morgana to catch up and relax into the kiss. Morgana sighed through her nose and weakly gripped at Sera’s shoulders. She felt so damn fragile.

She wanted more.

Sera moved her hands to Morgana’s chest to find the buttons of her shirt. When she found them, Sera began unbuttoning them with earnest. That’s when Morgana squeaked and pushed Sera to the side.

Now flat on her back, Sera looked to the side and found Morgana scrambling to the foot of the bed to get some distance between them. That hurt, she had to admit.

“I,” Morgana mumbled out, “I’m sorry, I just—”

“What was that?” Sera asked, sitting up.

Surely she wasn’t just being a tease. Or maybe… Sera hadn’t even considered it but what if Morgana was just experimenting with Sera? What if the rejection she was so afraid of is about to come and whack her upside the head?

Morgana brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them. She looked so small and Sera was reminded of that night in Haven. The night Morgana told her about the Circle life.

“Do…” Morgana began quietly, “Do you remember what I told you about Circle mages?”

Sera huffed and sat up, saying, “There was a lot of stuff you told me, Tadwinks. You’re going to have to be specific.”

Morgana hugged her knees tighter. She was looking down, refusing to meet Sera’s eyes as she said, “The relationships part.”

“About the babies being taken away?” Sera asked, “That’s real sad and all but why are you thinking about stolen babies while we’re about to do the do—“

“Mages aren’t allowed to have relationships.” Morgana said, cutting her off, “I… I’ve kissed people before. But it was fleeting and it never… never went passed that. The templars, they’d never allow it.”

The penny dropped. Sera’s mouth formed an ‘O’ shape. So _that’s_ why she had been so nervous about sex.

“You’re a virgin.” Sera said, a little breathlessly.

Morgana nodded meekly, saying, “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to think less of me. Maker, I’m the Herald of Andraste, the _Inquisitor_ , and I’ve never been deflowered.”

She couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing. Through giggles, she said, “Oh, you really are a noble. _Deflowered_.”

Morgana seemed to curl into herself and Sera quickly sobered up. She didn’t want to upset the poor thing.

Sera rolled over and moved towards Morgana. Soon, Sera was sitting on top of Morgana’s legs and holding her face in her hands. She placed a soft kiss on Morgana’s forehead and felt Morgana practically melt underneath her.

“Silly girl.” Sera murmured, “Why would I think less of you? If anything, I think it’s kinda hot.”

Morgana’s eyebrows shot up and Sera giggled at her expression. Not many get to say that they bedded the Herald of Andraste, let alone took her virginity. Talk about bragging rights.

Sera began peppering soft kisses down Morgana’s face, murmuring, “We’ll take it slow, love. Let me take care of you.”

Morgana whimpered and her hands clutched at the fabric on Sera’s back.

Oh, this was going to be a fun day.

———

Morgana Trevelyan was definitely not a virgin anymore. Sera made sure of that. Several times. In a row.

In fact, the two of them hadn’t stopped going at it since that day. It had been a few weeks since they started and since then, Sera couldn’t count the number of places they did it on two hands. There was Morgana’s desk, _Josephine’s_ desk, the war table (took her right up the Dales on that one), in a tent that one time in the Hissing Wastes—

You get the point.

Sera was incredibly sore: Morgana was very giving. If Morgana got one, Sera got _three_. Don’t get her wrong, she was loving all the extra attention but she misses being able to walk without a slight limp sometimes.

She thought about getting her Tadwinks a gift. A reward for all the love she had been showing Sera for the last few weeks.

At first, she thought about a nice staff. Something cool and powerful to make Morgana look even cooler and more powerful than she already was. But she knew shite about staves and magic and she _refused_ to ask Dorian or Vivienne about it. She’d rather walk on glass than give them ammunition to belittle her relationship with her Tadwinks.

The two of them were serious. Sera meant was she said: she doesn’t play with just anyone and she doesn’t share. Although, she hadn’t actually clarified that with Morgana. She assumed it was just understood. No awkward talk about feelings necessary.

So Sera settled for getting her a hat. Something Orlesian and fancy. And probably expensive, but that wasn’t the point.

When she did end up finding a hat, it was definitely Orlesian and fancy. It was also ugly as anything. She decided to scrap the whole gift idea and just stuffed the hat with apples, slapped Coryphenus’ face on it and gave it to a bunch of Inquisition soldiers.

She told Morgana about the hat and didn’t think much of it. Why would she?

That’s was until Morgana pulled her aside one day, leading her up to her chamber. Usually Sera would assume they were about to bump uglies but Morgana looked serious.

Then she finally said what was on her mind.

“I’m racking my brain for something you’d like.” Morgana confessed, “I have to admit, I just don’t know.”

Sera tilted her head and asked, “Well, that’s sweet but what are you on about?”

Morgana wrung her hands together, “You gave me a gift, sort of. I asked everyone and still don’t know what to get you in return.”

Sera could’ve exploded with happiness. She imagined Morgana, the frigging Herald of Andraste herself, going around and telling everyone that she was with Sera. _Only_ Sera. That…

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sera said, a massive grin on her face, “You went to everyone and said I was your lover? Right to their faces? They must have…”

Vivienne’s disgusted face popped into Sera’s head and she almost snorted with laughter.

“Ooh, Vivienne must have puckered pinky-tight.”

Morgana looked surprised and Sera walked towards her, beaming as she said, “Best gift ever.”

“I’ve never kept you a secret. I don’t think it’d be possible.” Morgana said, honey dripping from her eyes when she looked at Sera approaching.

Sera pushed the Inquisitor back onto the bed and said, “There’s a difference between knowing and having it rubbed in your face, yeah?”

An idea popped into her head and Sera hopped up on Morgana’s lap, saying, “I’ll show you. On your face. Because I said… just come here.”

There were no complaints from either party.

_later._

Long after the two of them finished rolling around, they laid in Morgana’s bed. Under thick furs and curled into each other, Sera found herself at peace. She wasn’t thinking of ancient darkspawn, of impending doom, of the war or anything like that.

The only thing that existed for Sera right now was Morgana.

The sun had already dipped behind the mountains but the Inquisitor was wide awake. She was playing with a ball of fire in the palm of her hand. Periodically, she would change the flame from blue, to yellow, to red and back.

Sera was fascinated. She always was when her Tadwinks played with magic in bed like this. It was the only time Sera was ever around magic _not_ being used to hurt someone.

The heat the fire gave off made Sera lean closer, hoping to fight off the winter winds. Morgana handled the flames with such confidence and precision that Sera was never afraid.

She wondered about Morgana. What she was like in the Circle, and before that.

“Tadwinks.” Sera murmured, her eyelashes fluttering on Morgana’s bare skin.

The woman in question kissed Sera’s blonde locks and asked, “Yes, love?”

“What were you like as a kid?” Sera asked, adding, “Before the Circle. After, too.”

Morgana hummed and the flame changed to a warm orange.

“I’m the youngest of five.” She said, a small smile on her face, “One brother and three sisters. You can imagine the camaraderie between my brother and father, being in a house with majority women.”

Sera giggled as she traced patterns into Morgana’s skin.

She continued, “My parents spoiled me. I’m kind of the runt of the litter. Out of all of my siblings, I’m the only one who has gold eyes. They’re considered lucky in the Free Marches, you know. Not to mention I was the only child who could sit still for more than five minutes. And my siblings were so much taller than me.”

“You were a goody-two-shoes, huh?” Sera teased.

“Oh, yes.” Morgana said, “I was the perfect child for any parent: calm, polite and didn’t talk much. Unless my siblings were up to some mischief, then I’d be a little terror.”

Sera tried to picture it: a young Morgana causing mischief and mayhem with a loving family around her. A _real_ family. It must’ve been nice.

“We used to go to see the opera together sometimes.” Morgana said, “Antivan, specifically. My aunt used to make us come see shows with her. Did I ever tell you about how me and my brother snuck a rabbit into the theatre once?”

Sera sat up a little, mouth hung open, “No.”

Morgana nodded, saying, “Mhm, we did. My aunt didn’t speak to me for three months.”

Sera sunk back into her spot next to her Tadwinks and curled right up.

“Anyway, that was a long time ago. More than ten years since I last saw my family. I wonder how they’re all doing,” Morgana seemed to deflate into herself, “They stopped sending letters when the rebellion began.”

Comfort was all Sera could offer her.

“I’m sure Josie can set up a meeting between you all? It’ll be a family reunion!” Sera said, eyes sparkling at the thought.

She wondered if the pretty gene was strong in the Trevelyan line. It definitely was with the runt of the family.

Morgana shook her head, saying, “I’ll save that for _after_ Corypheus has been defeated. I need the bragging rights after all. My mother would probably try to take over the Inquisition because _mother knows best, dear_.”

A lull of silence fell over them. Only to be broken moments later when Sera asked, “What about the Circle?”

She hummed and said, “I was scared when I first arrived. I was scared of the templars, even though some of them knew my family personally. And I was scared of my new powers. I didn’t want to hurt anybody.”

“The Circle was good to me. Better than most circles.” Morgana said, “I didn’t have many friends and I was fine with that. The other students didn’t like me because I was better than them at magic. They thought I was a snob and I don’t blame them. I used my abilities to mock them, so I could feel better about my own loneliness.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of being anything other than saintly,” Sera said, only half-joking.

Morgana chuckled, saying, “I was a terror before Lydia took me under her wing. She was the best of us. She taught me how to control myself, how to act with honour. She was… a second mother to me. I miss her every day.”

Sera moved up a bit and placed a soft kiss on Morgana’s cheek. She felt her lean into the kiss and sigh. Sera was helping. She could do this.

“She would be proud of you.” Sera murmured against her temple, “I know I am.”

Morgana gazed up at her, eyes shining in the darkness. So much hope and trust were pooled in those eyes and they were all for Sera. Only her.

The two of them pressed their foreheads together. It was a moment of tranquility, of intimacy between lovers. Sera didn’t need sex to feel wanted and _loved_ by Morgana. The way Morgana held her was enough.

Morgana was enough.

———

Since Lady Emmald, Sera hadn’t even _touched_ a cookie. She wanted nothing to do with them anymore. Chocolate chip, blueberry, raisins — she hated the lot of them. Cookies reminded Sera too much of the baker.

Maker. He had been so oblivious when he talked to her. He had no idea that Sera was the one that tampered with his goods and was the one responsible for so many “unlucky” accidents in his life. She wished she could take it all back now.

It was all _her_ fault. Lady Emmald and her stupid pride. Sera just wanted a _mother_. They could’ve learned how to bake cookies together, she wouldn’t have cared.

Instead, Sera grew up thinking everyone hated her for being an elf. She walked around Denerim with that trapper hat on to cover up her ears. _Knife ears_. Thinking back, Sera still wasn’t sure which people actually hated elves and which ones were just normal people that Sera thought hated her.

Sera hated her pointy ears. She hated her big eyes. She hated how she could feel the rhythm in the elven language even though she made a point to never learn it. She hated being an elf and she hated those damn cookies.

But things were different now. Sera didn’t want to hate herself anymore. For the first time in a long time, Sera felt good about herself. Happy. Loved. And it was all thanks to Morgana.

She never treated Sera like she was any different than everyone else. When Morgana made elf jokes about Sera, she found herself laughing and enjoying it. There was never any ill-will attached to them. Morgana treated Sera’s race as something that deserved respect and it was revolutionary for Sera.

Maybe it was because she had never let people get close to her before. Until she met Morgana.

Morgana made everything in Sera’s life better. So Sera thought, _why not cookies, too_?

That’s why they were sitting on a roof, munching away on cookies that Sera stole from the Inquisition kitchen staff. (It’s not like they’d miss them… much.)

And so Sera told her everything. About Lady Emmald and the baker. About the alienage and the elf tree. About feeling like there was something wrong with her for being an elf — and for not being a “good” elf.

Morgana listened. She was patient and calm and everything that Sera needed to ease her nerves.

“So what do you say?” Sera asked, a nervous grin on her face.

She waited with bated breath. And then Morgana smiled.

“Cookies were my favourite snack when I was a child,” Morgana said, “I remember my father making the kitchen staff cook a batch of cookies for me every week. I used to wait in the kitchens and watch the servants cook until one day one of them showed me how to make them.”

She held Sera’s hand in hers and said, “The recipe escapes me now but I’m sure I can sort it out. We’ll make them together, whenever you want. Sound good?”

From then on, Morgana and Sera made a point to share a cookie a week, either baking them or buying them from Val Royeaux. It didn’t matter to Sera which one. Every cookie tasted sweet when she shared them with Morgana.

They weren’t pride cookies anymore. They were the happiest cookies ever.

———

They were just supposed to ally with the Grey Wardens, stop Livius Erimond from corrupting them and be back home in time for tea.

Not this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Sera had been dragged through a rift into the Fade. The frigging _Fade_. The dreamland of demons and abominations and worse. The stuff of nightmares and Sera was there.

She blocked out most of the affair. She could only remember small parts of it. Demons. Magic. Nightmares. Warmth. Hands holding hers. The Divine? More demons. “Just breathe, love. Breathe for me.” An arrow pulled from the quiver. Barriers around Sera. Protection.

Nothingness.

The Herald of Andraste faced off with every bit of Nothing that came at them. Sera screamed as she shot arrows into them, terrified that if she got too close to them that they’d swallow her whole. That she’d be trapped in that Nothing.

Morgana never let any get close to Sera. She protected Sera even when it meant sacrificing her own safety.

They were so close to the exit now. All they had to do was defeat the Nightmare demon and they’d be out of the Fade. It was a hard-fought battle but somehow they managed.

Just when they were about to leave, more demons came flooding in to stop them. Sera was ready to run as fast as she could to outrun them. There were so many. Maker, she really thought she was going to die.

She looked at Morgana. The absolute fear and distress on her face was enough to make Sera’s heart plummet. Was she going to lose her Tadwinks? No, no, nonono—

“Somebody has to stay behind!”

The air in Sera’s lungs vanished. She turned to look at Morgana and was transported back to Haven. She remembered the way Morgana rushed out of the Chantry, embracing potential death like it was nothing more than a warm hug.

Sera prayed that her Tadwinks wouldn’t try and be a hero again. She couldn’t — wouldn’t — let her do it. Not again.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to stop her. They left the Fade, minus one Loghain Mac Tir. The Grey Warden who was hated by his own faction sacrificed his life so that they could live. He died an honourable death and Sera felt bad that all she could focus on was Morgana. Morgana, who was alive and breathing and safe and _alive_.

It was just supposed to be a bit of fun. Then it became something more, this thing between them. And it was only growing bigger with each day. It couldn’t be love. It couldn’t because Sera didn’t do love and she never had.

But when she kissed Morgana after they fell out of the Fade, pouring every ounce of her soul into the kiss because _fuck she’s alive_ , it felt a lot like love.

———

The Inquisition went poking around in some ancient elven ruins, they actually met ancient elves, and then they destroyed Samson’s armour and defeated him.

Oh, and the Inquisitor drank from the Well of Sorrows. Because of course she frigging did.

Of all the stupid, self-sacrificing bullshit Morgana has ever done, this has to top them all. She could’ve let Morrigan drink from the well but noooooo, she just had to do it herself. For “the good of the Inquisition”. What a load of shite.

The next time Sera saw Morgana, she pointed an arrow right at her face. No scary demon jumped out to protect its’ vessel so at least she wasn’t possessed or anything. Morgana had reacted fairly well to the arrow: she just blinked and said, “Hello to you too, babe.”

It deescalated from there, mostly because Morgana had the patience of a saint. She assured Sera that everything would be fine and that she wasn’t getting “elfy” ideas about what happened at the temple. The well’s power was a means to an end, nothing more.

Sera had felt much better after that. If anything else, at least they got a dragon out of all this.

———

It all came crashing down around Sera.

It was a terrible nightmare that left her shaking for hours upon waking up in a cold sweat. A nightmare depicting a great battle between the Inquisition’s forces and Coryphellus’ army. So many people died, bodies littering the battlefield and stained in blood.

But they had won. Morgana killed the ancient enemy and stitched up the sky and it was supposed to be a victory. Until Andraste herself came down to take Morgana away, back home to the Maker. Sera had screamed and cried until her lungs burned and she shot an endless amount of arrows at the prophet but it was no use.

Morgana was taken away forever and she had left Sera behind.

Sera woke up with tears pouring down her cheeks. She cried into her pillow and had to rub the cushions to ground herself. She was here, the dream wasn’t real, Morgana is alive, she’s alive—

There, crying into her pillow and so so broken, Sera admitted a truth she had been in denial of: she was utterly and completely in love with Morgana Trevelyan. Morgana was safety and comfort and love and the smell of warm cookies on rooftops and she was _everything_.

Once she said it to herself, there was no taking it back. All she could think about was Morgana’s body being carried up to the heavens, never to return. She knew that it was only a dream but the final battle was coming soon and what if that happened? What if Morgana played the hero one last time to save the world at the cost of her own life?

She couldn’t lose her Tadwinks.

She couldn’t face her either. Sera holed herself up in her room and prayed that Morgana didn’t come to see her. She prayed that she was too busy with Inquisitor stuff or on some mission she didn’t know about.

But Andraste in real life was just as cruel as the one in her nightmare: she never granted her that wish.

Morgana walked into Sera’s room with a big, stupid grin and it made Sera’s heart clench. Love. So much love was flooding Sera’s vein, coming hand and hand with fear. Fear of losing the very woman she loved, who stood in front of her now.

Sera backed away, saying, “Oh, no. Not you. Not now!”

She rushed out of the room. She needed some distance between them.

“Sera?” Morgana called, the confusion clear in her voice, “Sera!”

“I don’t want to talk. Go away!” Sera said forcefully.

Morgana just moved closer towards Sera.

Sera took a step back, “I said go! Away!”

“But what is—” Morgana began saying but was cut off.

“I saw you dead!” Sera snapped, feeling the words spill out of her before she could stop it, “You led all of this right up Coryphy-shit’s face, and then _the Herald_ went home to Andraste. It was last night, clear as anything, even with eyes shut. You. In the Void. Gone.”

The Void. Just like what she saw in the Fade — all that Nothingness consuming her Tadwinks.

The memory of the nightmare flashed in her mind and Sera spat, “I can’t see it again. I can’t be with you and see that again!”

“Then I’m sorry for what I didn’t do, in that thing you imagined?” Morgana said, looking so lost.

“Right, like you have any say!” Sera snarled, “There’s holes leaking the Fade — dreamland — all over the place! Dreams show stuff. Stuff I don’t want to think about! Which is hard, because I want to think about you! A lot.”

Morgana looked at Sera softly, like a lover would. Her Tadwinks. Brave, gentle and kind and _hers_. She couldn’t lose her.

“You don’t act like nobles. I love that. You don’t hide. I love that.” Sera said, voice shaking with emotion, “Maybe you can take or leave cookies. Fine. Still love that. And you’re human as anything, and I still love that. But seeing this really hurt! I’m fighting to make things better and learn truth and shit, and it just keeps getting scarier!”

Sera was shaking like a leaf at this point. It was too much. This was only supposed to be a bit of fun but it turned into this. A frigging mess of emotion and shite.

Morgana smiled softly and took a step forward, saying, “I know you don’t care about words, but that was a lot of _love_ you just let slip.”

Sera hadn’t even realised. She knew she said things without thinking but Morgana was right: that was a lot of love. Fuck, she hadn’t meant to let that slip out.

“Well, thank you, old lady smarty pants, turning it all around to show me what I ‘really want’. But so what?” Sera asked with a scrunched up face, “You’re special. Who else is special? Divines, yeah? Wardens, too. Heralds will be different?”

She had already gone too far. She laid all her cards on the table and couldn’t turn back now. Sera huffed and said, “So yes. _Love_. Lots of it. Who cares against all of everything?”

She had said it. As plain as day, she had told her. Sera was in love with Morgana Trevelyan. A mage, a noble and a fucking saint all wrapped into one. How could she not fall for her?

Sera half-expected rejection. She braced herself for it, in fact. She didn’t expect for Morgana to march right up to her, plant a fierce kiss on her lips and wrap her up in a tight embrace. Sera could’ve cried right then and there with relief. Instead, she simply kissed back with everything she had.

Morgana broke the kiss and Sera swore her eyes were burning like melted gold.

“It’s because I love you that _everything_ had better watch out!” Morgana said, gripping her arms, “It’s you and me against it all! Unless you’re not up for it.”

Not up for it? Not up for it! Sera felt so much anger swell up in her that all she could do was give in and tackle the Inquisitor to the ground. The fighting didn’t last long — the kissing did. The two lovers sat in that tavern, happier than they had been in a long time.

So this was love? As Sera gazed at the Inquisitor looking at her with so much fondness, she decided that she liked being in love. She liked it a lot.

It felt a lot like coming home.

———

Morgana did it. Corypheus had been defeated by her hand and the sky above them had been sealed up. She saved the whole frigging world and only had to kill a god to do it.

Sera knew she could do it. And the best part? The Herald didn’t go home to Andraste; she came home to Sera.

There was still more the Inquisition had left to do and so many people wanted an audience with Thedas’ saviour. But they could wait, the whole lot of them. Morgana deserved a break and Sera was going to be the one to give it to her.

She was thinking something along the lines of a vacation. A long one. Just the two of them, travelling wherever they wanted and doing whatever they wanted.

Sera didn’t care where they went. Just so long as she had her Tadwinks.

———

Peace didn’t last long, like most things.

The Exalted Council was just an excuse for noble pissheads to give Morgana shit about _how_ she saved the world. Stupid, petty politics that Sera didn’t give a toss about. They wanted to shut down the Inquisition, claiming that it had outlived their purpose.

Morgana seemed to agree but was still unsure.

And then the Qunari attacked Hilamshiral and ruined everything. Morgana’s mark was getting worse with every hour, the Qunari were plotting to kill people and agents of the elven god Fen’Harel (Fenny, to Sera) were causing problems.

It was a mess and, as usual, Morgana was dragged into the middle of it.

Sera wanted to ease Morgana’s pain, if only for a moment. Give her something to hold onto and fight for. If so many things were ending, Sera wanted to give her a beginning.

So she proposed. Just like that. She wrote everything down but the words were still muddled inside her head and they fell clumsily out of her mouth. Maybe if she was cleverer, she could’ve told Morgana everything that she wanted to say. That she admired her and loved everything about her. That Morgana made her feel like she deserved to be loved and like she could love herself.

But she said enough for Morgana to say yes, so it worked out, didn’t it?

(“You’re a loony.” Morgana said with a beaming smile.

Sera’s heart swelled as she asked, “Tell me do, that’s a yes?”

“All the yesses. Every frigging one.”)

Sera got to wear a wedding dress. A real expensive one with actual gold jewellery. _Sera Trevelyan_. She liked the sound of that. She really did. So did her Wifey.

That’s right. _Wifey_. Just as good as Tadwinks.

Sera almost laughed at the irony of it all: not only did she fall in love with a noble, but she became one herself. Life was funny like that sometimes.

The wedding had been the calm before the storm, in hindsight. The Qunari plot “Dragon’s Breath” had been an actual dragon and Morgana stopped a Qunari assassination plot.

Throughout all of this, Sera had to watch her wife’s arm destroy itself with each passing second. Sickly green lines curled around her arm as it slowly consumed her. Sera could only imagine the pain she was in and it broke her heart.

At one point, Sera feared that this was how she was going to lose her Tadwinks.

(The Anchor surged up again and Morgana fell to her knees in pain, crying out. Sera rushed to her side with her heart in her throat.

“No, no, no, you’re not dying on me.” Sera said, picking her up onto her feet.

Morgana gripped her arm as silent tears slipped down her cheeks.

“What’s this about your hand getting worse?” Sera asked, so afraid, “It isn’t, right? I mean, Leliana isn’t always right. She can’t be. Please?”

Morgana cupped Sera by the back of the head and leaned in until their foreheads were pressed together. Around them, the Fade hummed with life.

“Whatever happens… I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything.” Morgana said, “I love you.”

Sera’s heart broke in her chest. She blinked back tears and snarled, “Fucking words. We do and we fight until… I love you! And I get to keep something, you hear?”)

In the end, Morgana came back to her. She always did. No matter what obstacles in her path, she always came home. Although this time she came back with one less arm and had disbanded the most powerful organisation in Thedas — _her_ organisation.

The Inquisition was no more. Now, the Herald of Andraste had a new target: find allies in Tevinter with her remaining forces to kill the Dread Wolf.

(Solas, that fucking self-righteous, genocidal _prick_ —)

Morgana had been so scared that Sera might not come with her to Tevinter. That it was too much for her now that there was no more Inquisition.

Sera told her the Inquisition could shove it. She was staying with Morgana because she loved her and there was nothing in this world that could tear them apart. She’d follow Morgana to the ends of the earth. Nothing mattered as long as they were together.

Sera was a Trevelyan now, after all, and family stuck together no matter what. Besides, they still had a honeymoon to attend.


End file.
